Luminescence
by midnightmockingjay
Summary: Rose Tyler has lived with a "curse" for her entire life: bestowed upon her is the ability to create and destroy with a wave of her hand. The hope that she will ever fathom her power is futile; that is, until she learns some things were meant to shine. AU
1. PART I: Chapter 1

_A/N: I really, __**really**__ shouldn't be starting another story right now. I've got another to finish in a different fandom, and this is my first time writing for Doctor Who, so there's a chance that this might be rubbish anyway. But the plotbunnies for this would not stop bombarding me, so I had to write it. I'd like it to be a series, but we'll see where it goes._

_The first chapter or so will be sort of slow; I've got to get through over a hundred years of history to get into the good stuff, so please just bear with me here._

_Just a quick __**trigger warning**__: there's attempted rape, as well as character death and some other adult themes (though I don't think it's enough to rate this story M). It's probably going to be a reasonably dark fic overall, but who knows. I will follow my Muse wherever it goes._

_Enjoy!_

0000

"What are we going to do, Pete?" Jackie questioned, nearly yelling in a tone that nearly masked her fear. "You saw, that thing she did with her eyes! Our kid's a freak!"

"I know, Jacks, I know," Pete sighed, running a hand through a crop of strawberry blonde hair that he felt was getting thinner by the day. "We haven't registered her with the Crown yet; I'll drop her off down at Powell House."

"But you hear about how cruel the children are there!" Jackie protested. "Even if she's… _different_, I don't want her to grow up in that sort of environment! I want my daughter to get the best of everything, and she won't get it there!"

As if the infant knew that she was being talked about, she began to wail in the next room. Pete and Jackie ignored it, and the discussion continued. "Well, it's either that, or we leave her in a dumpster to die. Or we keep her, but neither of us seem keen on that ever since…"

He trailed off, as if he couldn't bear mention what had occurred earlier that day. Then with a huff, her turned to stare angrily out the window. Nearly growling, he exclaimed, "Goddammit, Jackie! You saw! Not just her eyes, but the action! You… you saw her turn that spider on her hand to dust!"

"It's witchcraft, Pete," Jackie said quietly, curling her hands in her lap. "It has to be. And I do not want a child that is marked by the Devil himself!"

The girl's crying escalated, and still neither parent seemed to want to do anything about it. Silence reigned between them until Pete let out a long‐suffering sigh_. _"I'll take her to Powell House in the morning. I pray to God that it's the right decision."

0000

It was an ordinary morning‐‐ birds tweeted in the bud‐laden trees of springtime, the morning sky was dreary and gray, people walked about on cobblestone streets to mills or the market. Friends chattered on about nondescript subjects and ladies laughed at the dry jokes of their suitors. Nothing about this day marked it as special, and many would be surprised to know that what was occurring on the outskirts of London turned an ordinary day into a fixed point in time, never to be trifled with.

Madame Desmond had come to the front steps of her workplace, drying her calloused hands with a ratty cloth. All of the caretakers in the orphanage had a day of the week to check the front stoop for new arrivals, as most unwilling parents took the coward's way out and just left their unwanted neonates outside of the front door in the dead of night, not wanting to see the women looking upon them with shame.

Almost unsurprisingly, there was a young child on the front steps of the shabby establishment that April morning. She was in a wicker basket, wrapped in a thin, coarse woolen blanket that scratched her sensitive skin. On top of the precious bundle was a blood red rose, clipped from the Tyler's own bushes, to watch over the eight month old and hopefully protect her from any harm in the night. Though the flower didn't actually have any mystical powers, there was an old legend in Tyler family lore about a maiden and a rose that had saved her from wolves while she was lost in the woods. Maybe, Pete and Jackie hoped, there was a backbone behind the fairy tale, and their little girl would be protected.

Reaching down, the caretaker picked up the basket, careful to not awake the sleeping little girl, and checked for a note. As there was none, certain things had to be decided by Madame Desmond herself.

"Rose," she decided as she picked up the scarlet flower that was on top of the girl, talking to herself more than to the child. "Your name will be Rose. Now come with me, and I'll get you settled."

As she put the flower back in the basket, a sharp pain pierced her thumb, and she dropped it and flinched before moving to look at her finger. A single drop of blood oozed from a small puncture wound, forced upon her skin from not being careful enough with the flower. Its thorns were sharp, which Madame Desmond had nearly forgotten.

The caretaker watched the blood with an uneasy eye, following its trail down the pad of her thumb and down into her palm. An ominous air settled over the woman, and she reached down to hastily wipe the blood on her apron before taking the child into the infant ward.

Maybe Madame Desmond could get someone else to care for the baby; there was something about the innocent little girl that oozed malevolence.

0000

A force slammed into the girl's back, sending her stumbling and flying into the mud. Her arms flew out to catch herself, but even though her face did not go into the puddle, the dirty water splashed onto her face anyway. Tears burned in the backs of her eyes as the laughter of the other orphans hit her ears, the jovial sound laced with an innocent viciousness that only children could possess.

"Freak!" a boy named Jimmy yelled, and everyone seemed to giggle even harder. Rose began to tremble with both humiliation and rage as she got up, wiping her small hands on an already dirtied dress. She glared at the group of five or six children that were in her age group as balefully as she could manage, and a large girl called Shareen spit at her feet.

Suddenly, the seven‐year‐old realized that she had enough. Clenching her pudgy fists, she stomped her foot and screamed. This only caused the group to laugh harder.

Rage built within Rose, starting in the pit of her stomach and encasing her until it was as if a flaming presence hovered over her skin. She wanted them humiliated, she wanted them in agony, she wanted them _dead_!

The pent up mental energy released itself. Rose's eyes glowed gold in a way that hadn't occurred since the night before her parents had given her up, and suddenly the other children were on their knees in the dirt, screaming with their hands over their ears as unbearable pain shot through their heads.

_I can crush them!_ Rose thought savagely, baring her teeth like a rabid wolf. _I can crush them like they've been trying to crush me!_

Then, she severity of her actions caught up with her, and she forcibly yanked herself out of her fury‐induced trance. Stumbling, she fell back into the mud, terrified of herself. Around her, the other children ran away from her, sobbing.

Rose sat there until the sun went down, keeping her mind carefully blank. The power that had coursed through her was a complete mystery, and a terrifying one at that.

Finally, the girl got up and trotted back into Powell House. She arrived in the middle of dinner, and Madame Smith chastised her and sent her to wash up and go to bed without a meal.

Even in her dejected state, she couldn't help the swell of satisfaction that occurred when her age group cowered as she passed by their table. Smirking, she trotted out to the well in the back to wash.

0000

Rose's eyes darted across the dining room to look at the new boy. He looked to be a few years older than her, and he was sitting by himself, as she was, nibbling on a stale piece of bread. His dark eyes flitted around the room as if he were afraid someone was going to go over there and bully him, which was a justifiable worry‐‐ his dark skin marked him as an outsider, different from the rest of them.

The girl felt a bit sorry for him; she knew what it felt like to be ostracized, and it wasn't a pleasant feeling. She'd overheard from the others that his grandmother had passed, leaving him with nowhere to go but here.

She knew what she had to do; no one should have to be lonely.

Steeling herself, Rose got up and strode across the room. Even though it had been three years since the Incident, the group of children that she had affected tensed as she walked by, as if one day the girl would once again crack and their minds would be harmed yet again. Rose rolled her warm brown eyes at their antics and settled down next to the new boy.

His eyes moved to her nervously, as if she was going to strike him or berate him. Rose felt yet another pang of pity of the boy, and scooted a bit closer on the bench. "Hello," she greeted with a gap‐toothed smile, showing him that she meant no harm. "My name's Rose. What's yours?"

The boy's eyes darted downward to the table, and he shifted a bit, feeling uncomfortable. He mumbled something too quietly for Rose to hear, so she politely asked for him to repeat it. "M' name's Mickey."

"Mickey," she tested the name out on her tongue, liking the way it sounded. "I like that."

He gave Rose a small, timid smile before going back to eat his bread. In that moment, an alliance was formed between two people who had never before felt the comfort of friendship.

0000

"‐and then she screeched at him and accused him of calling on another woman in his spare time, and though the git tried to deny it, she tossed her drink on him and stormed out of the tavern. So then, Boris turns to me and says, '_And she thinks __**I'm**__ the animal!_'"

Rose laughs and clutches onto Mickey's arm as he walks her back to Powell House. They've both been out drinking to celebrate Mickey's release from House custody, as well as for his sixteenth birthday, seeing as they were both on the same day. Rose would sadly have to wait another two and a half years for her release, and she was dreading them; without Mickey the beside her, she felt that facing the rest of the people there would be much harder. At least with her friend, she'd had companionship.

And within minutes, that would be gone.

Of course, he'd still visit regularly and they'd go out. Madame Desmond insisted that the older boy was courting her, though Rose couldn't imagine that anyone would want to marry an orphaned freak from Powell House. She had to admit, though, that Mickey was her best bet.

And he was nice‐‐ he stood beside her firmly when they were taunted, even when Jimmy and the others tried to convince him that she was a witch (which was somewhat understandable for the time period, it being 1902 and all), and he helped her up when she scrapped her knees or fell out of a tree.

But he was leaving here to face the demons of Powell House alone, and part of her would never forgive him for it.

She was about to make a remark about how the crazy woman from the tavern probably had grown up with apes when the girl was yanked aside, away from Mickey and into a side alley. "Hey!" she yelled, trying to fight her way out of the stranger's firm grasp. "Let go of me this instant!"

"Rose!" Mickey called as another pair of hands pulled him back into the shadows as well, though in the opposite direction.

The girl was forced back into the stone walls of a closed bakery, smacking her head into the rocks with a crack. Strong hands held her wrists above her head, and a familiar face leered down at her.

"What the hell do you want, Jimmy?" Rose snapped, trying to wriggle out of his grasp. She made no headway, so she stopped moving in an attempt to conserve her energy.

"Language like that shouldn't come from a lady's mouth," Jimmy tutted, shaking his head as if he were disappointed in her. "Not that you're a lady. But you _are_ female, so that counts for something."

His tone of voice made Rose's blood run cold. She tried to break free once again, this time a bit more desperately, and Jimmy just laughed as she struggled in his grasp.

Struck with new determination, Rose lashed out, kicking him in the stomach. Air rushed out of his lungs with a whoosh, and he dropped the girl's arms in surprise. She lunged out from under his body and made a break for it, hurrying to the opposite alleyway where two other boys had Mickey trapped as well. His eyes widened as she came towards him, trying to warn her of what was behind her.

And then she was tackled, forced down onto the cobblestones of the street. Her head smacked the ground, and Rose saw stars that weren't in the sky. Blinking rapidly, she tried to get her bearings.

Jimmy flipped her over and straddled her, pushing her wrists down yet again and lying down on top her stomach to stomach, thigh to thigh, heart to heart. The young man smirked at her as if she were an animal that he had caged before kissing her brutally, using a knee to pull up her dress simultaneously, as if it were a common practice for him.

Rose fought back, twisting as hard as she could while biting down hard on his lower lip. The boy pulled back with a grunt, sucking the blood off his lip in an almost sensual way before telling her calmingly, "You might want to settle down; you don't want to run out of energy before we all have a go."

"You hate me," Rose ground out as she continued to struggle, lashing out as Jimmy managed to get her dress off. She was left in a thin linen chemise and drawers, and she had never felt so exposed in her entire life. "You are disgusted by me. So why rape me?"

A feral glint entered Jimmy's eyes, and he brought down a hand to caress her face in a faux‐loving manner. "Because, doll, I want _revenge_." His words slid over her skin like silk, and if there weren't such a threat behind them, they would've sounded sensual. "All of these years, we've been intimidated by you for absolutely no reason! You're all bark and no bite. Sure, you supposedly did that… little trick in the mud that one time, but we were young and it was probably all in our heads. So, me an' the boys were out walking tonight and we saw you with that pickaninny over there, so I thought _'Hey, why not put the bitch in her place?_'"

Rose made a noise that sounded almost like a growl, and Jimmy chuckled for the last time before diving back in, kissing her and jamming his tongue down her throat and grinding against her. She tried in vain to push him off, and his hands wandered down, one fondling a still‐forming breast and the other going into her drawers.

Then one of his fingers was inside of her, and Rose bucked, more out of revulsion than desire. It was sharp and dirty and anything but pleasant.

_I've had enough of this!_ she screamed mentally, gritting her teeth to force Jimmy out of her mouth. Letting her rage consume her for the first time in years, the floodgates broke and she unleashed Hell on him.

Suddenly, he was flying back and hitting the far wall, sliding down to hit the ground. Dazed, he pushed himself up laboriously while Rose stood gracefully, eyes flashing. She moved faster than humanly possible, standing over a bewildered Jimmy who seemed stunned to see her there.

"But‐ I‐ You‐" he stammered, trying to inch backwards. His back pressed against the wall, his chest heaving as looked into alien, glowing eyes. "Please."

And then there was no Jimmy Stone.

The boy had been pulled apart at the seams, his atoms permeating into the air around them. There would be no evidence, no body to find‐‐just the accounts of two terrified young men that claimed that Rose Without A Last Name was a freak, an abomination.

Eventually, they would be declared insane and carted off to an asylum in Wales. But this is not their story, so their fates shall not be dwelled on.

After they scampered off, Rose breathed deeply, releasing the power gradually and fading back to her normal self. Crossing the alley, she picked up her dress and slid it back over her head, brushing some of the dirt off once she was properly covered. Then, she allowed herself to look at Mickey.

He too was cowering, as the others had been. Rose made a move to come closer to him, but he crawled back, falling onto his bum and looking up at her with wide, scared eyes. "What _are_ you?" he whispered, unable to see anything but her turning their old bully to dust.

"I don't know," Rose told him, voice shaking as the night's events began to hit her full force. She held back a sob and put a hand against her mouth, covering it to attempt to hold back the deluge that was sure to come. "Oh God, Mickey, I don't know."

"Stay away from me!" he exclaimed, leaping unsteadily to his feet. As soon as he was sure that Rose wasn't going to hurt him, he darted away, moving quickly past her and leaving a breeze in his wake.

Completely drained, Rose fell to her knees against the wall and sobbed.

0000

_A/N II: Oh, and also, I really suck at updating. I already have the second chapter of this written, but I may wait a bit to post it; it all depends on how long it takes for me to write each chapter. Anyone who's familiar with my Rose x Scorpius story in the Harry Potter fandom will tell you that I am a horrible updater, but maybe that's just because I've lost some of my fervor for the fic itself. Anyway, thanks for reading and please review!_

_(Plus, if anyone has an idea for a better title, I'm all ears.)_


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: I should warn you not to get used to quick updates like this; I'm starting to get into a rhythm with this story that I couldn't quite find in my other one, so hopefully I'll be able to stick with relatively quick updates, but life is busy and unpredictable, so I can't make any promises (besides the fact that I __**will**__ finish this fic)._

_This is the last history chapter before we get to where everything __**really**__ begins, so just bear with me during these little snippets of time in the life of Rose. I've got the next chapter almost done, so it should be up soon as well._

_Before I start, I'd like to thank to __**Eris1031**__ and __**Velvetpru'd**__ for reviewing! Also, thanks to everyone who alerted or favorited this story! You're all lovely _

0000

Rose did not go back to Powell House. She had no possessions, no money to her name, and nowhere to go, but she _refused_ to go back there. The girl spent the night in the alley where everything when wrong, and awoke in the morning to the hustle and bustle of the morning commuters.

Pushing her sadness and guilt away, Rose left the area, walking across London to a small group of businesses. After job-hunting all day, she finally found a sympathetic seamstress that was willing to give her food and board in exchange for an assistant, as she was getting old and her husband was dead, so she wasn't able do some things on her own.

It only took a few days for Rose to get comfortable with the job, but she still wasn't contented in her own skin. She could still see Jimmy Stone being turned to dust, and Mickey looking at her with pure terror in his deep brown eyes that usually shone with warmth.

The girl wondered if her friend would ever want to look at her again.

She didn't know that a week after her lapse in self-control, Mickey went to the orphanage looking for her; after days of battles with himself, he'd decided that Rose had done what she needed to do, and he couldn't begrudge her for it, even if what she had done was gross and unexplainable. When Madame Desmond said that she hadn't returned since she had gone out with him, he felt horrible about his treatment of her, and was terrified that he'd find her body in some strange part of the city.

So, he decided to go looking for her.

It took nine months for him to track her down, as London was a big city with all sorts of nooks and crannies for a young girl to hide in. He checked everywhere he could think of: inns, mills, restaurants, and even brothels. When Mickey finally found her, though, she was still working in the seamstress's shop, looking healthier and more proper than he'd ever seen her.

Rose had expecting anyone to come into the store that Saturday morning but Mickey. Later, he would tell her that he'd gotten a clue from an old tavern keeper down the street that had a soft spot for the young girl, and he had wasted no time going to the elderly woman's shop to find her.

He took her to that tavern, and they each got a pint and sat in a booth in the corner, discussing how the last few months had gone for them. Mickey didn't mention the murder of Jimmy Stone, and she didn't bring it up; Rose obviously wanted to put it in her past, and he would allow her to do so.

And then, Mickey really _did_ start courting her; though they never followed the normal traditions of courtship, as they had no family to lead it along or chaperone, he desired her hand and she gave it to him.

They were married two years later, when he was eighteen and she was nearing sixteen. It was a small ceremony, with Rose and Mickey's employers as well as a few friends to witness, and for a few years, they were happy. They managed to move into a larger flat instead of the small, one‐roomed hovel that Mickey had called "home" right after Powell House, and the night where everything was revealed was a distant memory.

But then, Rose miscarried. Then she miscarried again. And again, and again. Soon, it was apparent that children would be impossible. Though Mickey said that he loved her and it didn't matter whether not they had children, the young woman despaired more than she ever had.

Having been raised by avid churchgoers, Rose was led to believe that Satan himself had marked her, cursing her with power that would cause everything around her to die. She tried to convince Mickey to leave her, but he would not. "It's just bad luck," he said one night as they lay next to each other in bed, staring at the firm wooden ceiling above their heads. "Any children of ours would be scorned anyway. This is better."

Rose didn't feel like it was better.

0000

When Rose was twenty‐five, a small boy literally ran into her in the market. He fell and scraped his knee, so Rose decided to do the kind thing and take the boy's hand and help him find his mother, who he'd be separated from.

Fifteen minutes later, they'd come across her in a teashop, frantically asking the owner if he'd seen a little blonde boy called Anthony. Mother and son reunited, and the older woman came over to Rose.

"I can't thank you enough," she said, embracing the girl with shaking hands. "I couldn't bear to lose another child."

Rose just smiled and said that it was her pleasure before walking out of the store in order to finish up her own shopping.

The young woman had no idea that she'd just met her own mother.

0000

It took Rose ten years after that day in the market to realize that she wasn't aging. She'd stood next to Mickey in the mirror one morning, and noticed that while Mickey had wrinkles around his eyes and mouth and gray beginning at his temples, Rose didn't look a day over twenty. The realization terrified her, and she began attending church for the first time since leaving Powell House, praying to God in hopes that he would lift the curse that the Devil had placed on her.

Salvation never came, and things only seemed to get worse. It was a mere three years later that the Spanish Influenza struck London, killing many people, including Rose's husband of twenty-four years.

It wasn't even a surprise to her that she'd never even gotten a sniffle.

0000

Within a year, Rose moved out of London and travelled over the ocean to the New World. She settled down in Boston, making new friends but never romancing anyone; her marriage with Mickey was comfortable, and it wasn't something she was planning to achieve again.

After ten years in Boston, she moved down the coast to a small town in Virginia. It was a charming town, but its people were shallow, and Rose lasted only three years there before she decided that she wished to go back to England.

Liverpool was quite different from London, and she found herself liking some of those differences. She remained there for nearly twelve years, and in the middle of the Second World War, she decided to move to Cardiff.

0000

"Sarah Jane, I _really_ don't want to go!" Rose whinged as her friend let her towards the dance hall. Though she'd enjoyed a dance that she'd gone to with Mickey back in London decades before, she wasn't in the mood to go to this one.

Even the name (_Kiss the Boys Goodbye Dance_) made Rose feel unsettled. Though it _was_ a dance for men going to war, the "goodbye" in the title made everything sound so final; it wasn't like they would never be coming back!

Well, Rose reasoned, some of them wouldn't be. They _were_ going to fight in the biggest war that the world had ever seen, after all.

Sarah Jane had only been invited because her brother was there, as he was a Captain. He had told his sister that it would mean a lot to him if she came, and that if she desired, she could bring a friend.

Rose wished she wasn't that friend.

With a sigh, the woman shoved away her negative thoughts and decided to try to have fun, for Sarah Jane if not for herself.

The Ritz was only a few blocks away from their flats, so it didn't take them very long to reach the beautiful dance hall on foot. The party was in full swing when they arrived, and Sarah Jane's brother welcomed them exuberantly, hugging them both and insisting that they both reserve dances for him, seeing that he didn't have any "lady friends" with him that night.

Rose said that she would, as she genuinely liked Luke. That didn't stop her from dancing with a few other men, though, and she found herself forgetting the fact that she didn't even want to be there.

After two hours, she stepped outside to get some fresh air. The night was crisp and a bit warm for January; comfortable under the stars, Rose closed her eyes and breathed in, then out.

"Rose?"

It was a man's voice, full of surprise and accusation and awe. The woman started and turned, ending up face‐to‐face with an anomaly.

The man glowed. It wouldn't have been noticeable in the daylight or inside, but this man shone with a golden luminosity that Rose was all too familiar with. With that light came a feeling: a lump in the pit of her stomach that screamed at her and told her that this man was _wrong_. A speck of fear sparked in her expression and she took a step back, so the railing of the balcony was digging into her lower back.

"Who are you?" she demanded of the man that reminded her of a past that she wished to forget, that looked at her with such familiarity. "What do you want?"

The stranger almost looked hurt, and he took another step forward, reaching out to her, which caused Rose to lean back even further. "No. Don't come any closer. Tell me who you are!"

He put his hand down, but he still spoke with the same hope, the same urgency. "It's me, Rose. It's Jack!"

"I have no idea who you are!" the woman exclaimed, refusing to relax. "Please, just leave me alone!"

Something dawned in the man's expression, and he took a step back and slipped his hands in his pockets. After muttering something about how he should definitely _not_ be doing this, he met her gaze. "You don't know me now," the man said, a calming note in his voice that reminded her of the voices caretakers as they fed her soothing lies, "but you will. You'll trust me, Rose, and you'll help save me. I never got a chance to say thank you, so I am now, even though you have no clue what I'm thanking you for."

His accent was different; it wasn't British, but a lit that she'd become familiar with in America. This "Jack" character oozed charm: it was in his looks, in his stance, in his voice. He seemed like the sort of man that enjoyed a good fuck, and this made Rose wary of him even more.

Though his words seemed genuine, the woman was more confused than ever. "What you're proposing is impossible; how can you know me, while I have never seen you in my entire life? Why do you speak as if you know me well? Why do you glow?"

That last question had slipped out, and Rose clamped a hand over her mouth, wishing harm on herself for making it sound like she was drunk or insane. Surprisingly, though, Jack just smiled. "So I do have the right Rose," he said softly.

For some absurd reason, this statement made her rigid posture slacken, and she returned to her normal position. The next time she spoke, her voice was a broken whisper. "Since you apparently know me, does that mean you know what's wrong with me?"

Jack's face fell, and sympathy blossomed on his expression. "Oh, sweetheart," he sighed, "there's nothing wrong with you."

Stepping forward, he embraced her, and for some absurd reason, she let him. They stood there, hugging in the cold, for what felt like hours; in reality, though, it was mere seconds. Then he was releasing her and grabbing her by the shoulders and looking at her with an intensity that should have terrified her, but instead made her feel warm.

"You," he said, something akin to love in his tone, "are _fantastic_. Don't let anyone tell you that you aren't, alright?"

Rose nodded, and he released her. "We should both go back in," Rose said, shifting her weight from foot to foot.

"Yeah," Jack agreed, sounding a hundred years old.

Her gaze flickered down to the ground, then back to the man's face. "Well, then I guess this is goodbye, Jack."

Rose watched him bemusedly as he laughed. Jack stepped forward and kissed her so quickly that she couldn't bring herself to have any sort of reaction. "Goodbye for me, maybe," he said, stepping back. "But for you, it's hello." His grin lit up his whole face. "Hello, Rose."

With that, he turned and walked back inside.

0000

Rose didn't see Jack again, and she very nearly forgot him. If he was just another man, she probably _would_ have, but he spoke to her as if she were an old friend and he'd shone like the sun, so that made him a pretty significant point in her timeline.

And he was her first kiss since Mickey.

In fourteen years, Rose was out of Cardiff and moving north, to Edinburgh, where she remained for nine years before leaving to go to Southampton. Cambridge was up next, and seeing the beautiful university inspired Rose to study hard in order to get her high school GED, which was new to the public. She passed with flying colors, and managed to get into Cambridge University.

Many areas of study fascinated her; she'd had no real education before this, only having been taught by the caretakers at Powell House decades before. She hadn't enjoyed schooling back then, but now, she found herself soaking up knowledge like a sponge.

She took classes in many things, but focused on Philosophy, Religious Studies, and Astrophysics. Philosophy greatly interested her, as there were so many interesting thinkers and freethinking was encouraged, which was a wonderful change from the time that she was raised in. Her Religious Studies classes finally made Rose come to the realization that her curse was not brought on by the Devil, but something else entirely; after she made this conclusion, she dropped the course completely.

Astrophysics was her favorite.

The Institute of Astronomy at Cambridge was newly‐formed, and the professors taught with great passion. Meeting Jack was what really pushed her to take the course; if the strange man's words could be depended on, that meant that there was some sort of time travel involved.

At first, Rose had completely disregarded the notion that something so fictionalized could be possible. But the more she learned about the nature of the universe and what made everything exist, the more she believed that something like time travel could be possible. It seemed that the possibilities of what the universe (or multiverse, even) contained were endless, and Rose loved that.

In four years, she was graduating with a Bachelor's Degree, and Rose had never felt more accomplished than she had in that moment when she tossed her cap into the air with the rest of her class.

She managed to get a job at the University as a researcher, which she managed to keep for a good six years. With a heavy heart, Rose (who still looked no older than the woman that had married Mickey Smith in 19th century London) left Cambridge, and decided that for once, she wanted to try a small town.

Leadworth seemed pleasant enough.

It turned out that Rose would come to love that town; she made good friends, got a job as a Physics teacher that she enjoyed, and was a bridesmaid for the first time.

It was a beautiful wedding; Mrs. Wilson planned everything down to the millisecond in order to make sure that her daughter Tabetha's wedding was perfect. As Rose stood near the altar with the bride's sister, Sharon, and a few of the woman's other friends, she was happier than she'd felt since she'd gotten her diploma.

Augustus was a wonderful man, as well; Rose almost knew him just as well as she knew Tabetha. They'd been very welcoming when she first moved to Leadworth, and when she had to move on eleven years later, Rose had forced herself to believe that her friends were dead, and Sharon that would take good care of their daughter Amelia.

But what unnerved Rose to an absurd degree was the fact that when she tried to recall their faces or the time that they spent together, it was like Tabetha and Augustus Pond had never existed.

0000

In order to somewhat make up for her lost memories, Rose decided to move back to London. So much had changed since living there a century (_oh God, I've been alive for over a hundred years,_ she thought despairingly when she realized it, and the woman felt that was much too long a life) ago that it was almost like a different city.

She managed to find a flat that was in the same general area of her old one that she had shared with Mickey, and she got a job at a department store called Henrik's, where she stayed for a good few years, leaving only when some bloke decided to blow it up.

Rose didn't care about the fact that her job had exploded; no one had been hurt, and she could easily find another. What had unnerved her was that before it had happened, she'd seen a man.

A man who glowed like Jack.

He couldn't have been the same person; his hair was much shorter, and his ears and nose were bigger. He'd walked through the store when it was about to close, as if he were on a mission of the utmost importance. Rose had stopped him and asked if he needed help, but he'd just stared at her for a moment, blinked as if startled, and the bustled away as if her words had just bounced off of that thick leather jacket of his.

Rose was almost sure that he had been the one to cause the explosion; who else could it have been? She almost went to the police, but decided not to when she realized that all the evidence that she would have been able to give was that he glowed.

So life went on. Rose decided to take some time off from working and take some refresher courses on Astronomy online. This helped her catch up with the latest theories, which had been updated quite a bit since she'd gotten her degree back in the '80s. Maybe, once she got a bit more money, she could go back to school and work on a Ph. D.

But before any of her plans for the future could be set in stone, the Time Agency knocked on her door.


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: I've decided that I want to try for weekly updates, even though I know that isn't realistic. I've made a basic outline for the fic, so I pretty much know where it's going to go, but the problem is finding time to write everything down. Hopefully I'll continue to have luck with that though, as I have thus far. Now that I'm done with the history, the plot is beginning to move along more smoothly, so expect less time jumps and broad overviews of time periods (though there'll still be a couple thrown in once in a while)._

_Thank you to everyone who has alerted or favorited, and a special thanks to __**Raven Jadewolfe**__ and __**ElementalFoxGoddess**__ for their reviews!_

_Also, while on the subject of reviewing, it would mean a lot to me if you did so; chapters will come faster with inspiration from readers like you!_

_(Oh god that just reminded me of one of those PBS commercial things. I'm so sorry.)_

0000

"So what do you two gentlemen want?"

It was a viable question, especially from the lips of one Rose Smith. The woman was at the end of her chain, irked to no end. First, she'd had two strangely uniformed men show up at her flat, practically _demand_ entrance, and then sit on her couch, feet propped up on the table as if they owned the place. Cockiness rolled off the pair of them in palpable waves, and Rose was tempted to throw her tea on them just for being nuisances.

The partners looked at each other, the one with a thick brown mustache raising a caterpillar‐like eyebrow. His companion huffed a bit, rolling his eyes and taking his feet off the coffee table. Propping themselves into more professional looking positions, the one with hair as orange as the setting sun pushed up his sleeve, revealing a wrist strap. The man fiddled with it for a moment, hitting a couple of buttons before he got a response from the device.

An image came into existence above the gadget, as if the leather band was the projector. Rose leaned away from the image, as if its mere existence had insulted her. The man wearing the instrument played with the representation (which was some sort of graph) deftly, using his fingers to move it into a position that he deemed acceptable.

"I take it that you've never seen one of these before?" the man with the mechanism questioned, mirth hidden in the depths of his dark blue eyes. He was mocking her silently, Rose realized, and his resemblance to Jimmy Stone made the woman grit her teeth.

"Primitive culture," the burlier man breathed quietly from beside his colleague, a slightly chastising note in his tone.

Scoffing a bit, the ginger growled, "My apologies," but seemed to expect an answer from her anyway.

"No," Rose said as calmly as she could manage. Something about the device was attracting her to it, and that made her uneasy. "It is not something that I have seen before. And if I am correct, no one else in my time period has seen it either."

Both men looked impressed, even if the one with the contraption tried to hide it. "Clever girl," he said begrudgingly. "It's not a piece of technology from this era. Do you know what that means?"

Rose was really tired of them talking to her like a small child; she'd lived decades longer than the two of them combined. "It means that some sort of time travel must be involved," the astrophysicist said levelly, drumming her fingers on her knee as spoke. Years ago, she wouldn't have even thought that something like time travel could exist, let alone vocalize that opinion.

Jack the Glowing Man had been a real wake up call for her.

"Also," she continued, "the holographic technology involved in a device such as this is going to take, oh, another eighteen or so years for us to develop, I'd say. And to make it make it fit into such a compact system, another decade or so would be required." Rose tore her eyes from the device, moving her gaze to the man's face. "Am I correct?"

He tried to act nonchalant, but the red‐head couldn't quite hide the spark of intrigue that appeared in his eyes. "Mostly," he answered, licking his lips. Sighing, his partner elbowed him, and the man seemed to brighten a bit. "I'm terribly sorry for our rudeness, but you see, this is a… very _unique_ situation that we've been put into‐‐"

"You talk like you're the one that's being showed technology that's beyond the time period by two strange men who you've never seen before," Rose inserted dryly.

"‐‐and we don't want to cause any paradoxes." Straightening his shoulders, he reached across the table, holding out his free hand. "I've just remembered that we never made introductions; how rude of us. I'm Quint Easley, and my partner over there is Captain Wells," he introduced, nodding towards the Captain as he was mentioned. "He is a man of few words."

Wells nodded at Rose as she shook Quint's hand tentatively, still unsure of where they were going with this entire plot. "I'd say it's a pleasure," she said, "but I've learned to make my judgments later in the game."

"Sensible," Quint commented, laying his back against the couch cushions. "So, Miss Smith, this graph," he enunciated the word with a spin of said chart, "shows the peaks of the artron energy of this planet up until the 'present'." Smirking at her bemused expression, he elaborated, "Artron energy is something that nearly all species have, and it is mainly associated with the Time Vortex. In humans, like most species, it is very weak, but once in a while, its presence on Earth seems to spike for very short periods. Some of these are caused by a strange man in a blue phone box‐‐ don't ask," he added when Rose's expression morphed into something downright incredulous, "‐‐and we've been able to separate them. The ones on this graph are ones that we _have_ no explanation for, so we would hope that you could enlighten us."

Rose scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest as her stomach dropped. "And what do a few random energy spikes have to do with me?"

Quint's gaze turned intense, eyes boring into hers, and she found that she couldn't pull away. "Because we've traced them, Miss Smith," he said monotonously, "and we've traced them to you."

Hands falling into her lap, Rose's eyes widened, lips parting in surprise. "You're joking," she said breathlessly, unsure of whether or not they were just pulling her leg.

"I wish we were," he claimed, though the man didn't sound very apologetic. "By our readings, you've got some serious power inside of you, and it's the Time Agency's job to check these sort of things out, even if it's not within our time period."

"What's the Time Agency?" Rose asked, biting her lip.

Quint stood up straighter, as if he were proud to share the details of where he had come from. Captain Wells just rolled his eyes at his underling's eagerness. "I cannot tell you that right now, as it's classified information, but if everything goes well, you well get an explanation.

"So," he continued, "by using a device called an Artron Signifier, we were able to track the source of the increases, which tracked the energy signatures of each point and led us straight to you. But what keeps me up at night," Quint said dramatically, leaning forward, "is that the first spike took place in the year 1879."

Rose went rigid, which, she'd figure later, wasn't a very good idea. The Time Agent realized that he'd backed in into a corner, and she couldn't deny what he'd press next.

"You've been alive an awfully long time," Quint said smoothly, calm confidence leaking into his voice, "haven't you, Miss Smith?"

Rose refused to respond immediately, and instead she watched her hands as she knotted and untangled her fingers. After what seemed like an eternity, the woman finally choked out, "Far too long." Taking a deep breath, she explained, "I must move every decade, leaving everyone behind. Everyone that I knew during my childhood, including my husband, is dead, and I do not keep close friends in fear that they will find out that I'm..."

"That you're what?" the Captain asked quietly, pity coloring his tone.

"_Wrong_."

Reaching across the table, the burly man took her hands, running a finger across her knuckles comfortingly. "You're not _wrong_, Miss Smith," he told her, "just _different_." The man silently demanded that she look at him, and Rose did, her gaze sliding upward to meet eyes the color of the sea. "Different can be good, especially when you're with people that can encourage that difference and make it into something wonderful."

The words were simple, but they struck a chord within her, making Rose feel a light hope that she hadn't felt in decades. "Can you help me?" she whispered, nearly silent.

"Yes," Wells swore, squeezing her hands once before releasing them and sitting back down on the couch.

0000

Rose didn't pack much: just an old scrapbook that contained her only photo of her and Mickey, plus a myriad of other pictures of friends long dead and forgotten, some basic toiletries, a few outfits plus articles of significant jewelry, money, and miscellaneous bits and bobs that fit inside of her duffel bag. She'd leave her flat just as if she'd gone out shopping, and let the police ponder where she'd gone.

The woman had no one to say goodbye to, no one to keep her tied to this planet at this moment in time; she'd lost contact with any friends she had once she started online classes and became reclusive. That made leaving her hometown much easier than it could have been, but before she left, Rose felt that there was one more thing that she still had to do.

She sent the pair of Time Agents down to a pub around the corner, saying that she'd be ready to go in a couple of hours. Surprisingly, they seemed to trust her and didn't push for information on where she was going, for which the woman was grateful.

After stopping by a florist's to pick up a bouquet of white daisies, Rose took the tube to the outskirts of the city, where she walked a few blocks to reach her destination.

The old gate creaked as she pushed it open. Closing it firmly behind her, Rose continued into the graveyard, following a path past row upon row of faded tombstones to where her husband was buried.

When she arrived at the grave, she set the bouquet down at the tombstone's base before plopping herself down next to the plot. Leaning against the side of the cool stone, she began to tell Mickey of the events of the last hour.

"You'd never believe it, Mick," she said with a small smile once she was done. "It's so… science fictiony. I wouldn't believe it myself if I hadn't met that Jack character at the dance back in Cardiff a few decades ago." Pushing her hair away from her face, Rose leaned back, letting the warm spring sunlight bathe her face as she closed her eyes. "The first thing that I think of when I'm trying to describe everything to you is _Star Trek_, but you didn't stick around long enough for that. I wish you had; I think you would have loved it.

"Anyway," she said as she got up and dusted the dirt off her jeans, "I don't think I'll be coming back to London any time soon. But you'll be okay, won't ya? You were fine in the years that I was gone before. So I guess I'll…" Biting her lip, Rose put out her hand and stroked to top of the tombstone, hoping that wherever Mickey was, he'd feel it. "I guess I'll be going then."

Something told Rose that she'd never be back to Mickey's grave again; the air of finality that settled over her when she closed the gate and set off towards the pub only confirmed it.

0000

"Jack?"

The Captain turned, looking at his favorite (and only) tea boy with easy affection. The Welshman stood in the doorway to his office that the Hub, holding a small stack of papers and looking unsure. "Yeah?"

"I noticed a report," he started, shifting his weight from foot to foot awkwardly, "about a girl that went missing in London. It was a name that you'd searched in the database before quite a few times, so I thought you'd like to take a look at the reports."

"Thanks, Ianto," Jack said shortly, closing his emotions off. Taking the report, he ushered his friend out and closed the door behind him.

Frowning, he took the papers back to his desk. After glancing briefly at the picture of the woman on the first page, his suspicions were confirmed and a lump of dread and uncertainty settled in his stomach.

Jack took a deep breath, leaning back in his chair until he was looking at the ceiling, with his hands folded behind his head. Maybe if he squinted hard enough and threw in enough willpower, he could see the stars.

Pushing off of his desk with his foot, he spun in slow circles, trying to make sense of his jumbled thoughts. After nearly an hour, he finally had put together something coherent.

"It's starting," he stated as his chair halted, coming to a stop in front of the glaring picture of Rose Smith. It was the photo that was on her driver's license, and she peered at the camera, looking bored, but Jack could see the beginnings of a smile forming on her glowing face.

She looked so pure, he thought. Untouched by time, lacking the scars on mind and body that he'd become familiar with after knowing her for what felt like centuries. He _had_ known her for that long, even if he'd only been physically beside her for a few months.

The fit of rage came so suddenly that Jack couldn't stop himself from swinging his arm in an ark across his desk, sending his papers flying and causing his mug of tea to be flung to the opposite site of his office, leaving a brown stain up the wall and shattered remnants of the mug on the floor.

Bracing his hands on his desk, he breathed in and out, trying to contain his anger; there was nothing the man could do from stopping events that were already set in motion, even if he _did_ have a working vortex manipulator or access of a certain Doctor (which he didn't, Jack noted with irritation).

Red overtook his vision once again, and his hands curled into fists on his desk. If only the Time Agency hadn't‐‐!

"Jack!" Tosh called from her computer, a room away. "Something's come up!"

With a sigh, the Captain snapped out of his trance. Stretching, he arched his back like a cat and tried to shake off the feelings of fury and utter despair. Glancing once more at the picture that had managed to stay face up, even once thrown off the desk with the rest of his things, he walked out of the room.


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: I am so, so sorry about the wait; that just goes to show that when I set deadlines for myself, I never end up meeting them. I'll try to do a better job this time, but I'm not going to make any promises, as these next two months are going to be very busy for me._

_Thank you very much to __**Snush, Weeping Angel of Fear, ElementalFoxGoddess, Abri/StormagedonDarkLordofAll, Feirce Deity girl, **__and __**Raven Jadewolfe **__for reviewing; I was stunned at the amount of feedback for the last chapter, and receiving reviews inspired me to get writing even though I hit a bit of a blockade. So the more reviews I get, the quicker the update is likely to be._

_This chapter is a bit of a filler, but I set some things up that really needed to be done; hopefully it isn't completely boring. It's also unbetaed (like the ones before it), but I only point this out because I seem to have gotten myself a beta. I just wanted to get this up as soon as possible, so I didn't send it off. I'll also probably be making a couple of alterations to the older chapters to make them flow better, but I won't be making any changes to the plot so there'll be no need for you to go back and read the revised chapters (unless you really want to)._

_Anyway, I hope you enjoy!_

0000

A decision was made about what to do with one Rose Smith two months after Wells and Easley brought the anomaly back to Headquarters. The higher ups were a bit disappointed with the results of the mission ("What good is a meek little girl born in the nineteenth century?" one commander questioned as he blew on a cigar. "Just because she's got some artron energy in her doesn't mean she'll be any good in the field."), but Captain Wells had been able to talk them into allowing her to be trained as a normal field operative when the program restarted itself. They agreed on the condition that he would stay at the base oversee her progress himself.

So in the end, he had to sacrifice a bit, but he felt like it'd be a good decision in the long run.

He wasn't completely wrong.

During those two months of waiting, Rose was transported to a training base on the dwarf planet of Ceres, located in the asteroid belt. It was a strange little planet, its crust thin and veiling a vast ocean and under that, a dense, rocky core. The base was located on the thickest part of the outer layer, contained in a large dome that held in an artificial atmosphere that made the conditions on the icy planet livable.

The base itself was left over from a group of colonists involved in the Great Breakout of 5080, where human expansion was at its peak. Though the date wasn't that long ago, the pioneers had sold the building to the Time Agency for a large sum of money, and this allowed them to make their first extraterrestrial base. It turned out to be a good call on the Agency's part.

Rose was content there. Just in case they would allow her to train, she began to make use of the empty gyms and rec rooms, becoming more fit and familiarizing herself with the fads and cultural norms of the period. It was all very new and exciting, and (in Rose's opinion) involved too much sex.

But she was just a shop girl born in the nineteenth century; why would anyone care about what she had to say?

0000

"Settling in well?"

The voice came from the doorway of her bland, cramped bunkroom, and Rose turned to look for the source of the voice. The man was impossible to miss‐‐he was a wall of muscle in a Captain's uniform, imposing and somehow comforting. Curly brown hair was kept closely cropped on his large head, cut just so it was under the level of what the woman would consider bushy. His voice was quiet, as if muffled by the thick carpet of a moustache that sat on his upper lip, and it was one that Rose had committed to memory.

With a small smile, Rose tucked a stray piece of dyed blonde hair behind her ear and replied, "All right; I'm quite experienced with moving from place to place, so I'm sure that I'll be settled in no time."

Captain Wells may have smiled at her, but whatever lip movement occurred under that ridiculous moustache of his was covered. "I'm glad to hear that, Private. If you need anything, ask Quint, and he'll be sure to find me."

Rose took in the friendly request with a nod. Though Mr. Quint had told her at first that the Captain didn't speak very often, it turned out that Wells could communicate just as well as anyone else when he wasn't on a mission; he didn't like the way some other Time Agents dealt with things, and he was almost _too_ careful in trying not to be like them. Rose didn't think he really had anything to worry about there, as he'd been a good friend to her during these two boring months on the base.

Finally, she seemed to notice the title that Wells had added at the end of the first sentence. Perking up instantly, Rose questioned, "'Private'? They're letting me in?"

After clearing his throat, she was sure that the Captain actually _did_ smile. "They've finally allowed you to join up," he clarified, "and just in time for the beginning of a new session of basic training tomorrow too. That's why we had you moved into this smaller bunkroom: only one other female enlisted and was accepted, so you two don't really need that big of an area. She should be joining you shortly." It was only then that Wells began to look a bit awkward, and he tugged on the stiff collar of his uniform. "She'll also be serving as your battle buddy."

The woman raised her eyebrows and leaned back a bit on her bed. "What the hell is a battle buddy? It sounds like something off of a kids' show."

"Erm." He scratched the back of his neck and shifted his weight between both feet. "Did you read the manual I gave you?"

"Course I did," Rose responded, "but there was nothing about this in there."

The Captain's nostrils flared with his sigh, and he explained, "Battle buddies are people that the Agency put together to help with the transition from civilian to agent. They use each other for all sorts of things: running training exercises, as a friend, for sex, and once you're in the field, you're usually partnered up. The program is meant to help the drill sergeants with scheduling, and it helps keep depression and suicide levels down."

There was a long silence as Rose thought this over. After what seemed to be hours, Rose questioned incredulously, "Did you say something about _sex_? Because I'm sorry to whoever gets stuck with me, but I'm straight and I don't see that changing in the foreseeable future. And even if I got partnered with a male," she continued, huffing a bit, "you _couldn't_ have expected me to just jump into bed with him! I'm not that sort of a person, no matter what's socially acceptable nowadays."

"You've seen that we here in the 51st century are much looser in the sexual sense," Wells ventured timidly, as if he were afraid that the much smaller woman (with no training whatsoever) was going to roll up the thick training manual that was resting on the small table next to her bed and smack him with it. "New recruits in the Agency are usually used to being with one or more people at a time, and at first they almost went into withdrawal from the lack of sex, as it's banned at the time when you're doing basic training. So, they came up with the Battle Buddy system, using an old American method as a model. That's where the name came from too, so don't blame the Agency; blame the Americans."

Rose chuckled a bit before asking, "So can I _not_ sleep with her? Because I'm not a 51st century local, and therefore not ruled by my sex drive."

"You'll have to take it up with her," the Captain replied, "but if a large problem arises, just talk to me and I'll try to do something." _It's not like I've already done a lot for this girl, _he noted mentally, sarcasm coloring the thought.

That answer was enough for Rose. She nodded, and before Wells could leave, she spoke. "Thanks. I mean, for getting me into the Agency an' all. It must've been a hassle for you."

Another smile peeked out from under the caterpillar on his face. "It was my pleasure. I'll be seeing you in the morning, Private Smith." With that, he turned from his position leaning against the doorway of the small bunkroom and headed out into the hall.

0000

"_Shit!"_

The exclamation was sharp and full of annoyance, uttered right outside of the bunkroom, and it had followed a large crash. Rose winced and put down the book on temporal physics that Wells had thought to bring her, unsure of exactly what to do. As the voice coming from the other side of the door was female, Rose could assume that she was about to meet her new roommate.

Instead of leaving her "battle buddy" to clean up the mess (because with a crash that loud, the damage _had_ to be rather massive) herself, the woman figured that she should do the right thing and assist the person she was to spend the coming months with. Getting up off the bed, Rose walked across the room, the hems of her jeans dragging on the concrete floor as she moved towards the door.

What was on the other side couldn't exactly be described as expected. Blinking hard, Rose took a step back and assessed the situation: a young woman in tight red pants and black stiletto heels was on the ground, gathering up various bits and bobs that had fallen out of her handbag when it crashed against the floor. From what Rose could tell, the loud crash had been a bottle of champagne that had been crammed into the golden bag, and now the expensive looking thing was covering in the stuff. But that wasn't really what caught Rose off guard.

The woman was completely naked from the top up.

A bright yellow tank top was tossed on top of a large suitcase, so it wasn't like she didn't have a shirt to _put_ on. A white lacy bra could also be spotted about ten feet down the hall, as if someone had tossed it aside like they were trying to skip a flat rock on a lake. As the older woman tried to make sense of what was going on, something else moved out of the corner of her eye: a man in his late twenties was backed up against the wall near the door, also shirtless, and was struggling to button his pants. He was having trouble with the zipper because… well.

"Oh!" Rose's new roommate exclaimed, noticing the newcomer in the doorway for the first time. "You must be my battle buddy!"

"Yeah," the woman affirmed with a smile, trying not to show her aversion towards the situation that she found herself in. "M' name's Ro‐‐"

Her words were cut off when a pair of dark red lips crashed into hers, demanding attention. Rose went rigid, and after a moment, the other woman pulled back, looking a bit sheepish. "Whoops; they _did_ tell me that you weren't from around here. Anyway," she continued, turning around to strut over to her bra and clip it on, "I'm Chartreuse Bixby, Char for short, and it's a pleasure to meet you!"

"Yeah," Rose said faintly. It took her a moment to realize that she was staring as her roommate pulled on her shirt. The older woman blinked once, hard, before remembering that she still hadn't introduced herself. "I'm Rose Smith. And I don't mean to be rude, but please don't do that again."

Char smiled softly as she secured the hem of her tank top over her midriff. "Don't worry; I won't get too handsy," she assured Rose, a laugh in her voice. "Just avoid me when I'm drunk and we should be fine."

She crouched down to continue cleaning up the shattered mess of the champagne bottle while whoever she'd been about to take against the wall scampered away. This was when Rose broke out of her trance. "Oh! Let me help you with that."

"Thanks, hun," she said, relief evident in her tone. Rose crouched down next to her, picking up shards of glass with nimble fingers. "So where are you from?" Char asked, making an effort to continue the conversation, for which Rose was grateful.

"Earth," she replied, and was about to reiterate the question when Char interrupted.

"Really?" she questioned incredulously. "I didn't think people we making voyages to Earth much anymore, with the New Ice Age that's going on."

That doesn't sound very pleasant, Rose thought, frowning a bit. "Actually, I'm not really from this time period. I come from 21st century Earth."

Something that resembled a squeal came from the other woman's throat, and Rose pulled back a second to look at her new roommate in confusion. "That's so interesting!" the younger woman exclaimed. "You'll have to tell me all about it!"

_Great,_ Rose thought sardonically_. Just as long as you don't try to sleep with me._

0000

"Hey, Private!"

Rose turned to see a grinning Quint bounding up to her like an excited puppy. She hadn't known that the man was on the base, so it was a great surprise. "I heard Captain Wells managed to get you a spot in basic training."

"That he did," Rose confirmed as the Time Agent wrapped her in a hug. "I'm just heading back from the first bout of physical training of the day." This was evident by her sweat streaked tank top, she was sure.

"Keeping up?" the man asked as he released her from his embrace, casually tossing an arm around her shoulder and began rubbing circles into the base of her shoulder with his thumb. Rose tensed; even though she'd been living in a looser society, some of the binds of Victorian London still remained. The woman doubted she'd ever be rid of them, but she figured that she'd have to learn to live in this sexualized period eventually.

Biting down on her discomfort, Rose responded, "Yes, actually; I made good use of the gym before I was even sure they'd let me in, so I'm in the best shape that I've ever been in. The only problem is that the drill sergeant is a bit terrifying, but I'm sure I'll get used to it."

"Yeah, you'll have to," Quint said, a serious note in his voice. "Look, Rose, I'm only passing through the base on my way back to Earth, but while I'm here I'm going to give you a bit of advice: don't travel the halls alone like you just were. Keep your 'battle buddy' with you, and if that fails, call Wells down. Training's just starting, and they haven't weeded out the incompetent assholes, so some of these new trainees wouldn't hesitate to corner you in an empty hallway and stick his dick in ya. You following?" After her nod, the Agent continued, "People from this century are mostly sex driven beasts. Hell, _I'm_ a sex driven beast, but I'm also a gentleman. Others aren't so nice. So be careful, Rose, and don't take this personally," he added hastily. "It's not that you're weak; it's that they're hormone driven douchebags. 'Kay?" Quint finally released her with a grin, and he clapped her shoulder without waiting for a response his companion. "Now come on; breakfast is calling my name."

Rose practically had to jog to keep up with the tall man's long stride. He was chattering to her about his last mission (something about he and about fifteen others ending up cornered by hostile aliens while _naked_, no less), but the woman's mind was elsewhere. It was the first time she'd thought of Jimmy Stone in years, and it made her feel uneasy; she was so determined to put her past behind her, and yet one mention of sexual abuse and he was back into the forefront of her thoughts.

Shaking her head slightly, she expelled all traces of him from her conscious mind. Rose had more important thing to worry about than a violent egomaniac. And anyway, he was long dead.

The air in the mess hall was tense, to say the least. Something must have happened, Rose realized, but nothing incredibly threatening, as a mauve alert hadn't been issued. As she looked for her usual meal partner, Quint drug her to the other end of the mess to get food, and then to the table where the exact man that Rose had been looking for minutes before was seated.

Wells was in a stormy mood; that much was evident from just one look. Somehow, no one else in their group seemed to notice except for Quint, who was eyeing his friend from across the table, where he sat with a fellow Corporal. Frowning slightly, Rose leaned closer to the burly captain, deciding that talking to him was more important than eating the food that was in front of her.

"What's wrong?" she asked in an undertone, trying not to attract the attention of anyone else surrounding them.

Wells shifted his shoulders in a strained shrug as he stared down into his mug of black coffee. "You should eat."

Rose shook her head. "There's something bothering you, and I'd like to help, if I can."

With a small sigh, the Captain turned a bit towards the girl that had somehow become his responsibility (even though she was decades older than him, and he'd taken to constantly reminding himself that even though she didn't look a day over twenty-five) and muttered, "I had to help with a retcon last night; it wasn't pretty."

The private paled, biting her lip and looking down at the table. Retconning was horrible in her opinion; she couldn't imagine what it would be like to forget anything that she went through, even the horrible things that still gave her nightmares sometimes. "How many years did he lose?" Rose asked, twining her fingers in her lap nervously before asking another question. "Did I know him?"

"Two," Wells said quietly, lips barely moving. "Only two, but that's enough to have a huge effect on a person. He was a superior officer to me, and what he did I can't disclose, but I really don't think that an offence like it was worth such a strong retcon. And no," he continued, answering Rose's second question, "you didn't know him; you probably haven't even seen him before, as he's been out of the base for a while. He only came back last night, already knocked out and brought to a cell without anyone seeing."

Rose felt almost guilty for the sense of relief that filled her when she was told that she had no connection to this undisclosed man. "So what's going to happen to him?" she asked as she reached over to grab her small bottle of milk. The Private took a sip, the coolness of the drink soothing her parched throat.

"He'll be taken back to his home planet," the Captain explained. "The last thing he'll remember is that he got stuck in a time loop with his partner. He'll be disoriented at first; a Time Agency rep will be with him, and they'll tell him that two years have passed and that he's being released from the Time Agency."

"That's horrible," Rose said, dread knotting in her stomach. "I almost can't imagine a worse fate, being near the top and then being booted out like it was nothing, and two years of your life gone on top of that."

A rough sounding chuckle rumbled deep in Wells' chest, and he slipped a flask from his belt and took a large swig of what Rose assumed was hypervodka. "Oh, Private," he sighed, "for someone so old, you really don't know a thing about tragedy."

"Excuse me?" Rose squeaked indignantly, tensing. "Listen here, mate, I've done things and experienced things that you couldn't even _imagine_!"

"I never said that you haven't," the captain muttered, seemingly regretting his words. "But believe me when I say this‐‐ there's a lot worse things than being retconned."

Suddenly, Rose had enough of the conversation. Shooting out of her seat, the trainee grabbed a banana off of her tray. "I'm going to hit the showers before the next bout of training begins," she called behind her as she left the mess hall in the dust.


End file.
